Oh, What A Shame
by ShatteredDiamonds
Summary: AU. "Boys aren't supposed to kiss other boys." Carlos/James; inspired by Taylor Swift.


**AN: **Well, um, yeah. This is terribly AU, taking place in New York, and it is rushed and makes no sense and there's shameless stranger kissing.

Oh, and it involves like, every curse word ever. Like seriously, this puts _Catcher In The Rye_ to shame. So, if you're easily offended, don't say I didn't warn you. I don't want people whining and bitching about how the language is bad and I'm going to hell, and blah blah blah.

* * *

"You put up walls and paint them all a shade of gray,  
and I stood there loving you and wished them all away,  
and you came with a title of a great story  
of a mess of a dreamer with the nerve to adore you."

* * *

Carlos peeks around the corner of the building, feeling the coldness of the bricks pressing into his back. He holds his exposed hands up to his face, breathing warm air onto his skin. To breathe some life back into me, he thinks.

He watches the boy from behind, dark hair slightly messed up. He can see the faint flicker of a cigarette and it spreads a halo around his silloutte. His ears are red, probably stinging from the cold. His scarf is dangling around his neck, like he's too busy looking cool to worry about freezing to death.

Idiot, he thinks. Probably thinks he's so un-fucking-resistable that he's too good to freeze in this goddamn weather. Fuck this weather, fuck this state, and fuck him.

The boy turns around suddenly. Carlos ducks behind the building, heart beating in his chest faster than he knew it could. He presses his back against the bricks and crouches down. The idea of getting caught watching him- _watching, not stalking, _he thinks- is enough to make him break out in shivers. It's not just from the cold. But it also brings a tingling sensation down his spine. This living on the edge, this _excitement_, gets him shaking.

He peers back around the bricks. The boy has moved up closer, slumped against the ground. Carlos can see the brown of his eyes reflecting the glowing ember of the cigarette. If he wanted to, he could reach out and touch his hair, smooth his hand against the boy's cheek. But he doesn't move. His fingers are frozen and all the air is stuck in his lungs. He can't breathe.

Wait, is he-

No, he can't be. Carlos rubs at his eyes. He does it again, and again, and again. But, no. The image is still there. The boy is crying. His lower lip is trembling and he's holding his cigarette closer to his face so that Carlos can see the bottomless pit of those brown eyes. His fingers itch against his side.

Why is he crying? he thinks. Why on God's good Earth is he crying?

Before he can think about it, he's sliding out from behing his hiding space and crouching down beside the boy. "Hey," he says. His voice cracks a bit at the end.

The boy looks up, startled. His fingers fumble with the cigarette for a second, like realizes that he's been caught. Finally, he gets a grip on it. His fingers are close to the burning flame, and it starts a steady path towards the skin of his fingertips.

"Hey," he answers back. He turns away.

"What the fuck are you doing out here?" Carlos asks. He doesn't have time to think about what he said, how brash and rude and insensitive it is. He's not thinking right now.

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

This boy, this boy with the burning silloutte and dark, flippy hair is staring at him lik he's a goddamn idiot. Maybe he is, he thinks, but oh well. I'm not the one sitting against the side of a building in the middle of winter, smoking a cigarette and crying.

Carlos laughs, rubbing his hands over his face. What the fuck _is _he talking about?

"I mean, this is New York City. What the hell is a pretty boy like you doing here, sitting against a wall and crying?"

The boy says nothing for a second. It's then that Carlos sees that his face is so close to his own. When did this happen? he wants to ask, but his mouth won't open. He can only stare into those soulless (or maybe they're soulful, who the fuck knows) brown eyes until the numbing pain in his hands is gone.

"James," he finally says.

Carlos blinks. "What?"

"James," he says slowly. "My name is James."

"Oh, okay. What the fuck are you doing here then, _James?" _

James' eyes seem to tremble for a moment before glazing over and-

Shit. Oh damn oh fuck oh hell oh man. He's crying again, shoulder shaking sobs. Damn it, Carlos thinks. Damn it, fuck me sideways, screw me longways. I made him cry.

Carlos sits there for a moment, unsure of what to do. He hears his momma's voice in his head for a second, whispering sweetly. _Always be lovely. _

_Always be lovely. Don't make enemies. Boys don't kiss boys, Carlos, boys kiss girls._

"Boys aren't supposed to kiss boys," he repeats slowly. He says it again, and then James is looking at him like he's lost his fucking mind, and he says, _"What?"_

He kind of looks like he expects Carlos to drag him into the alley and rape him at any given moment, so he simply shrugs and says, "I was just thinking. My momma used to tell me that all the time. I was-"

He stops, grabs James by the scruff of the neck, and kisses him.

Well. What the fuck is he thinking? All the thoughts leave his head as soon as James' lips connect with his, and his skin is warm under his fingertips and his mouth is lax under his. Kiss me back, he wants to tell him, kiss me back damnit, but that would require breaking this kiss, and he kinda really doesn't want to do that.

Finally, after a minute, they break away. James' eyes are glazed over. He's silent for a minute, before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a carton of Marlboros and a flimsy green lighter.

Carlos smiles at him, takes the lighter out of his hand, and throws it across the alley as far as he can. He can feel James shift against him, and when he turns his head, he's looking at him with that _What the fuck? _look that he's starting to get annoyed by.

He doesn't say anything, only pulls out a box of matches from his pocket. He pulls one out and strikes it against the box, watching flames dance beneath his fingertips. He holds it up and watches the light dance around James' face. His eyes are red rimmed and far away looking, and his mouth is red and bruised. His hair is messy and his mouth is agape, almost like he's in shock.

But fuck, if Carlos doesn't want him more than anything in the world right at this moment.

He watches James' fingers tremble and shake as he tries and fails to get a cigarette out of the pack. Finally, he succeeds and holds two out, but Carlos shakes his head and James puts the other one back in the case. He holds the match out and then their hands combine, and there's smoke flooding their vision and the empty spaces between them.

Carlos watches James smoke and thinks, whatever this is, whoever he is, my life is gonna change. James takes a deep breath of smoke and just as he's about to puff it out into the cold New York air, Carlos kisses him. James' mouth goes slack under his for a second before he's kissing back, and he should be concerned that he's gonna die of cancer from the (second hand? second mouth?) smoke, but he can't care less.

"Boys should kiss boys more often," James says simply, and then takes another puff of his cigarette, settling his body comfortably against Carlos' side.

* * *

Crappppy ending, I know. Oh well. I can't... Well, it's not gonna end better than this, 'cause it sucks all around. So, um, review and tell me how much of a loser I am.

This is dedicated to Char, by the way, since I forgot to add that, just because she's beautiful and I love her, and we inspire each other (and don't take that offensively, please, doll).


End file.
